The night was cold, and the gang’s breath puffed clouds of condensation through their tattered handkerchiefs. The boys anxiously laid in silence on the bank of the tracks while the mob’s front man confidently crouched a few feet to the side, beads of air chilled tension strolling from his brow to his quivering cheek. The whites of his eyes burned bright in the dark as he carefully observed the calm before the storm, his knuckles aching as he clutched the hand carved grip of his perfectly polished negotiator, filling it with half a dozen brass screamers. Ma lay asleep at the rickety old house out of harm’s way, a hearty meal of fried chicken and sides filled the old wooden table on the first floor, as a mangy canine stared into the darkness whimpering in response to the rattling scent of disaster. The ground trembled and small stones surrounding the tracks rolled down the shallow hill as the distant chug of a pay day approached the band of “merry men”. The giant metal steed screeched to a halt and a tired conductor leapt from its bowels to throw the track switch, turning to find himself face to face with a fate far worse than the heat of hell. Within minutes the train was robbed of its valuables and the air was filled with angry shots followed by visions of masked gunman running towards the night, the steam of their heated thoughts visible in the pale moonlight. Holstering his empty hunter he casually turned and let a hand scribbled note fall to the chest of the bloody mess… “Just Wanted To Make Mother Proud”, signed Maylene and the Sons of Disaster. (more…)
